May the Curve Be In Your Favor
by CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Stuck on campus after his last final, Arthur in unexpectedly invited to a party that changes everything. College AU, no underage/age disparity.


"I should have gone to UCLA." Arthur complained aloud, scowling as he walked across campus. As if finals weren't bad enough, it was snowing. Snowing hard, with a wind chill in the single fucking digits. For what had to have been the thousandth time that semester, he asked himself what on Earth had motivated him to accept a scholarship in this frozen fucking wasteland. If he wasn't very lucky, he was going to end up stuck here, as the three hours between his chemistry final and his flight home for the holiday break were likely to coincide with the worst of the storm. But that was a worry for after the final. Which was in four hours, and for which he did not feel prepared. It was his last of four this week, and he was on fumes, subsisting on nothing but Red Bull and anxiety.

"What's that, pet?" Someone had come up behind Arthur and heard his grumbling. He had to quicken his pace to match Arthur's, and then his face appeared next to Arthur, grinning. He was wearing a ridiculous hat, the kind with ear flaps.

"Just complaining about the weather," Arthur said shortly, barely glancing at the other student.

"This? Just a bit brisk is all. How are your finals going? I'm Eames, by the way."

Arthur shook his head. "Yeah. I know. I'm Arthur." Everybody knew Eames. Or knew him by reputation, anyway. He'd slept his way through most of the girls in Arthur's dorm during the first few weeks of classes, and then about half the boys. Though he was an upperclassman, Arthur actually had a class with him-some art history nonsense his advisor had foisted off on him-but Eames had never before paid him the least attention.

"We had art history!" Eames said, his voice triumphant. "Barely recognized you under all your gear." He gestured to Arthur's thick coat, scarf, and hat. "What'd you think of that final? Bit of a lark, right?"

Arthur had actually found the art history exam the day before to be unexpectedly difficult. He'd been worried about it since. But it wouldn't do to admit that, so he just shrugged. Academics were cutthroat here in a way he'd never have predicted-it was no good to show weakness.

"Where you headed now?" Eames asked, either oblivious to or ignoring Arthur's terse replies.

"Library," Arthur said. "I have a chem final this afternoon."

"That's a pisser," Eames replied. "You headed home after?"

Arthur couldn't help but wonder why Eames, with his outsized campus reputation, was suddenly so interested in him. He'd spent an entire semester blending in to the woodwork, keeping his head down, studying. He didn't dislike Oberlin, but it hadn't clicked for him the same way it clearly had for some of his classmates. He didn't really feel a part of it. He never felt comfortable joining their activities, whether they were early fall lawn games of Ultimate Frisbee or the more recent parties his dorm had been having, centered around a gravity bong made out of a residence hall trash can. He just wasn't social like that-the exact opposite of what he'd seen of and heard about Eames. "Yeah," he finally said, hating the caution he heard in his own voice. "If my flight isn't canceled."

"Mine was," Eames replied. "I was meant to be out this morning, but everything's shut down until at least tomorrow." He shrugged.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said automatically.

"Don't be. In no rush to get home anyhow." He raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under brim of his ridiculous hat. "I'm a bit more popular here than there. Good enough to stick around for another night of merry-making. I think this is you."

Arthur looked up to realize they were standing in front of the library. Eames' distraction had kept him from feeling the cold as he finished his walk across campus. "Well, Merry Christmas," he said, still sounding awkward.

To Arthur's surprise, Eames grabbed his arm before he could walk away. "Listen, if your flight doesn't go, come on over tonight. The boys and I are having a Christmas party, since we're stuck here. You know the house?"

Of course Arthur knew the house. Everybody on campus knew the house. Eames lived just off the edge of campus, with an indeterminate number of roommates, in a house that hosted gatherings once a month, if not more. The parties were reputably wild, often resulting in calls to the police and citations issued. Like frat parties on a campus with, blessedly, no frats. Arthur had both never been invited to one and never had any desire to attend. "I don't know," he said. "I'll probably be at the airport. But thanks for the invitation."

Eames grinned again and let go of his arm. "If you aren't at the airport," he said. "Promise you'll come by. Finals have you all wound up. You could use a party."

To his surprise, Arthur found himself nodding. He wasn't really agreeing to anything, he told himself. His flight would go out and neither of them would think anything of it again. "OK," he said, "I'll do that."

Eames' smile seemed brighter in the increasingly shitty weather. Arthur walked into the library feeling warmer than he had in quite some time.

The chem final wasn't as bad as Arthur had feared. There were a few sketchy questions, but overall he was fairly confident in his performance. As he left the lecture hall, he pulled out his phone and was met immediately with a text message alerting him to his canceled flight. At least he didn't have to find out at the airport, he thought sourly. As he trudged back across campus to the residence hall, he felt sorry for himself. He'd been looking forward to getting off the plane in L.A. and being warm, finally. His family didn't celebrate Christmas, and Hanukkah was nearly over, but his mother would be cooking for an army anyway, fussing over him and feeding him and giving him an endless stream of encouragement until his grades came in. "It's just one more day," he told himself as he opened the dorm door. "You can wait one more day."

Unbundling himself, Arthur was thankful, again, that the dorm heat was always too high. In the middle of the night, when he had to strip off his blankets to stop sweating, he cursed it, but it was awfully nice when coming from being outside. Leaving his outerwear in an untidy pile, Arthur threw himself on his bed. God, he needed to sleep. He hadn't had more than a couple of restless hours per night all week. Once finals started, finals were all there was, with all other concerns, including the basic ones-like sleeping and eating and showering-shoved out of his mind.

It was a great nap. Arthur slept for maybe two hours, but he woke up feeling as if he'd slept all night. His head was much clearer now that there were no more exams hanging over it. It was all out of his hands now-he'd done everything he could. Peeking out his window, he saw that the snow was still coming down outside, drifting up against buildings and cars. Much as it was a pain in the ass, he had to admit it was pretty. He could also hear the sounds of revelling starting. With so many students stuck on campus after the last finals were done, parties were inevitable.

As he took a much-needed shower, the invitation from Eames returned to Arthur's mind. Surely it had just been a polite thing to say, not a real desire for him to attend? That said, there had been no reason at all for Eames to even talk to him that morning, much less walk him all the way to the library and then invite him to a party. It could be that, with some people already gone, Eames was concerned about not having enough guests? That didn't seem terribly likely, either. Maybe he'd meant it when he said Arthur looked like he needed to blow off some steam?

Arthur wasn't against the idea of blowing off steam. Quiet as he was, he wasn't conservative or prudish, and did his share of drinking and "light" drugs, both in high school and since he'd been in college. The idea of a few mind-loosening drinks did sound like a good way to clear the last vestiges of finals stress from him before he headed home. So, returning to his room after his shower, Arthur decided to go ahead and check out Eames' party. If it was uncomfortable, he could always leave. The dorm was getting loud, so it wasn't as if he was just going to be able to sleep the night away anyway. Plus, he realized suddenly and with a rush of relieved joy, for the first time in months, he honestly had nothing for which he should be studying.

When Arthur arrived at Eames' house, things were in full swing. A few dedicated and chilly smokers loitered on the porch. There was nobody Arthur recognized in their number-probably all upperclassmen-but they smiled and said hi as he walked through their group. Inside, probably thirty people were crowded into a smallish living room and kitchen, talking loudly and drinking from Solo cups. Trip hop played from a speaker connected to an iPod, and multi-colored Christmas lights wrapped their way around the ceilings and bannister. It felt festive and comfortable. Arthur smiled as he took off his coat and added it to the pile by the door.

"Arthur, you made it!" As Arthur was taking in the room, Eames appeared at his elbow, much as he had earlier in the day. "Let's get you a drink." He steered Arthur toward the kitchen. "Your choices are rubbish beer," he made a face and gestured toward the fridge, "or this delightful concoction." He nodded his head toward what appeared to be plastic bag lined trash barrel. The liquid inside was of an indeterminate color, and slices of questionable looking fruit floated on the top.

"What in God's name is that?" Arthur asked, looking at Eames. He'd been trying to avoid looking directly at Eames, thinking it was something like looking at the sun and should probably be avoided.

"That, my good friend Arthur, is wop."

"Wop?"

"Yes. Wop. So called for the sound one's body makes when it hits the floor after drinking too much of it!" Eames grinned and reached toward a stack of cups.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Arthur began.

Eames made a face. "C'mon, it'll do you good. Celebrate the end of all this exam business." He dipped the cup directly into the trash can, then handed it to Arthur with a triumphant smile. "Down the hatch."

It tasted better than Arthur had imagined. The alcohol in it was strong, but the mix of juices and something fizzy-Sprite?-made it easy to drink. Far easier than it should be, probably. He'd definitely have to be careful how much he had.

For an hour or so, Arthur moved about the two rooms. He joined in a few conversations, noticing a couple of people from his French class, and one girl who was dating someone in his dorm. The party was small enough not to be overwhelming, and seemed likely to stay on the mellow side. Eames moved in and out of Arthur's peripheral vision, playing the host and moving easily between groups, clearly in his element. Though he tried to keep it subtle, Arthur couldn't help but watch him.

In truth, Arthur had spent a large chunk of the semester watching Eames. After a brief and embarrassing tangle with another upperclassman, a guy named Tyler who had slept in his dorm bed a few nights and then decided he was bored, Arthur had decided to keep his dick in his pants while he got used to college. That said, Eames was impossible not look at it. For Arthur, who wasn't newly gay, but was fairly new at being comfortable with it, and at admitting what attracted him, Eames was like something plucked directly from a fantasy. The well-built body, the sparkling gray eyes, the thick, full lips...and the fucking accent. It was the accent that really did it. Every time Eames spoke in class, Arthur felt his cock jump.

It had only been his extreme finals-related stress and exhaustion, Arthur realized as he slowly drank his "wop" and moved about the room, that had kept him from freaking completely out over Eames' talking to him earlier. He'd been so wrapped up in exam mode that he hadn't even had time to properly obsess. Now, though, he could do nothing else.

After another glass of the punch, Arthur started thinking it might be time to leave. It wasn't particularly late, but he didn't want to do anything foolish, and his rescheduled flight was early in the morning. As he started to look through the pile of coats for his, Eames reappeared. "Leaving already?" If Arthur wasn't mistaken, Eames actually stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

"Thanks for having me," Arthur said. His manners were so well instilled it was impossible to turn them off. "It was nice."

Eames chuckled. "Nice? Are you going to shake my hand now?" He reached out and took Arthur's coat from his hand and returned it to the pile. "Come on, Arthur. Stay a while longer."

Arthur was surprised, and not wholly sure how to react. Eames hadn't spoken much to him since their conversation upon his arrival. Why did it matter to him if Arthur left? "My flight is kind of early," he began.

Eames shook his head. "No excuses." He looked, for just an instant, unsure. "There's something I want to tell you, anyway."

"OK?" Arthur frowned. What could Eames possibly have to tell him?

Eames nodded his head toward the stairs. "Come up with me, it's too loud down here."

Arthur followed Eames uncertainly upstairs. His mind whirled. Was Eames taking him to his room? Why? What could he have to say that required being away from the party?

Eames stopped at the second door on the right. When he opened it, there was a half-naked couple on the bed, so into each other that they didn't even notice the intrusion. "Oi!" Eames yelled, getting their attention. "This is my room! Out!"

As the couple split apart, Arthur recognized the girl who hung around his dorm with her boyfriend. He also noticed the guy she'd been into it with was not his dorm mate. Wanting no part of knowing any of that, Arthur looked at the floor until the two of them gathered their clothes and scurried away.

"Come on in," Eames said, ushering Arthur forward and closing the door behind him. Looking around, Arthur saw that the room was surprisingly neat, with a ton of sketches and drawings pinned to the walls. The bed was rumpled, and there were a few books lying around and a couple of pairs of shoes on the floor, but overall it was, by the standard of a college room, quite tidy.

Eames sat down on the bed. "Sit, if you want," he said. "I'm not going to bite you."

Arthur struggled not to blush at the mental image the words brought up, but was unsuccessful. He sat down anyway, about as far away from Eames as he could while still remaining on the narrow bed.

"OK," Eames said, looking down at his hands. "So, first, how drunk are you?"

Arthur frowned. What an odd question. "Not very," he said, honestly. "I wouldn't drive or anything, but my facilities are intact. Why? How drunk are you?"

Eames looked up and grinned. "Not very." He licked his lips and Arthur couldn't help tracking the motion.

There was a silence that was just long enough to be uncomfortable, and then Eames spoke again. "I'm glad I ran into you today," he said. His gaze had returned to his hands. "I'd be trying to think of how to approach you, and then finals started and everything was tits up."

Arthur was confused, both because "tits up" wasn't a term he heard often, and because he still had no idea why Eames would want to approach him. "OK…?" he said.

Eames looked up, clearly forcing himself to meet Arthur's gaze. "I want you to know I am not telling you this now because I want to sleep with you." He stammered for a minute, looking as if he'd said something he didn't want to. "Not that I don't want to sleep with you. I do. But that's not why I am telling you this now."

Arthur was so taken aback by the "sleep with you" part that there was no way he could parse out the rest of the sentence, but it didn't matter, as Eames continued. "I've been watching you all semester. Not, like, creepy stalker watching you. Well, maybe a little. But just watching you because I am interested in you. You're very smart. And you're always kind of by yourself. Cautious. Checking things out." He paused, but went on before Arthur could be expected to say anything. "I just...I haven't been able to stop wanting to know more about you. I even drew you."

"What?" Arthur's mind was spinning so fast he couldn't keep up. Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought.

Eames stood up abruptly and crossed the room to the desk, grabbing a sketchbook. Flipping a few pages, he thrust it toward Arthur.

On the page, Arthur saw a series of quick pencil sketches, mostly showing an arm, a tensed shoulder, steepled hands. One included a face, which was undeniably his, but even the sketches that were just torso were familiar, clearly depictions of how Arthur held himself while he was sitting in class.

"Please don't be creeped out," Eames said, his face completely devoid of its usual cheerful mischief and looking concerned. "I'm not expecting anything from you. It has just gotten to the point where it felt weird not to let you know."

Arthur was silent, his eyes wide and his mind, for just a moment, blank. When he spoke, what he said wasn't remotely what he'd intended to say. "I want to sleep with you, too." As soon as the words came out, Arthur blushed furiously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

Eames laughed. It was such an open, beautiful sound. "That's quite alright, that's good to know."

"It's…" Arthur trailed off, still not sure he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. "It's...not just you. I've been watching you, too." He paused, then stumbled on. "But everybody watches you."

Eames sat back down on the bed and smiled in a way that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Everybody does," he agreed. "That's what happens when you're a clown."

"It's not just that," Arthur said, knowing that everything coming out of his mouth was ridiculous, but unable to stop it. "Everybody wants you. You slept with half my dorm!"

"Ah….yeah." Eames sighed. "I was afraid that might be...a sticking point." He was quiet, his mouth quirked as if he was deep in thought. "Look, all I can say is this: I don't want to be that guy anymore. I've been that guy, for a couple of years now. And it's not...I don't feel good about it. It's not enough."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Arthur countered. "Lots of people sleep around in college."

"You don't."

"Well, no. But I'm not really...friendly."

Eames laughed again, seemingly taken by surprise. "No, I suppose you're not."

Arthur took a deep breath. He was smart enough to know that this wasn't a chance that was likely to come up again, and he was just going to have to gather his guts and do it. "I would, though...with you." He held Eames' gaze, though he could feel his ears burning. "Now." He didn't make a move toward Eames, but felt his own body brace, expecting Eames to move toward him.

Eames didn't budge. He looked at Arthur for a long, slow moment. Arthur started to panic. Had he somehow misunderstood? Was Eames not coming on to him after all?

Finally, Eames spoke. As he did, he reached out, closing the distance between them with his hand, running his fingers very lightly along the side of Arthur's jaw. "Not now," he said. "Much as I want it to be now. You've been drinking, you haven't slept properly in days, you're finals buzzed."

Arthur shook his head, disbelief and confusion warring with arousal and excitement. "I don't understand. I...I'm saying yes. I am here in your bedroom and I'm saying yes. I thought you wanted…"

"I want you," Eames said. "I've wanted you all semester. But I want you for real. You seem the type of person who thinks about things-I want you to have thought about it. I want you to be sure." He grinned ruefully. "And lest you think this is not a sacrifice, I can already tell you I am going to be kicking myself for the entire vacation for this."

"So this is about...consent?" Arthur wished he could make himself stop talking, but he had to understand. "This has been kind of a rollercoaster of a conversation, Eames."

"Yeah." Eames frowned. "It is about consent. What I said before, about being that guy who sleeps with everybody and not wanting to be that guy anymore-I meant that. I want something more with you. I want to try to see if you and I can...make something of a relationship, I guess? If you're interested in that?" That unsure look was back on his face, but he didn't look down at his hands. "I mean, don't get me wrong-if you come back after break and say you just want to have sex with me, I'm not going to tell you no. But I want you to be sure. And I want to be sure that I did this right."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. He was, at some level, disappointed. Just hearing Eames talk for this long had him half-hard, much less the things he was saying. But he had to respect the position Eames was taking. In truth, he was drunk, and he was exhausted, and he was overwhelmed. Though he very much doubted he'd regret it if he and Eames did have sex, he could admit he wasn't at 100%, so far as decision-making was concerned.

"How about this, then," Eames said. "You give me your number, and we will talk over the break-texts or Facetime or whatever works for you. And then, when we get back in a few weeks, we'll have decided where we're going with this. And hopefully I'll have convinced you that I'm good enough to give a go." He grinned, that rakishly charming smile so convincing it was as if it had never left his face.

"OK," Arthur said slowly. "But I think it's going to be me convincing you." Oddly, he felt excited more than daunted by the prospect. Impulsively, he leaned forward, catching Eames by surprise as he met his lips.

The kiss was brief. Both of them were clearly struggling to maintain control of themselves, and it didn't allow for a lot of passion. It was full of promise, though. Full of pent-up energy and wonder and hope.

Eames pulled away, his cheeks slightly flushed. "That was a really good start."

Arthur nodded, mute for the moment. It certainly was. He stood awkwardly. "I'm going to go now, then," he said. He nodded toward Eames' phone, sitting on the desk. "May I?"

Eames nodded enthusiastically, so Arthur grabbed the phone and put in his number.

"I'm going to be texting you every five minutes," Eames warned.

Arthur didn't try to keep himself from smiling. "I hope you do."

Eames walked Arthur to the door. The party was still in full swing, the guests noticeably drunker and noisier than they'd been when Arthur and Eames went upstairs. A few people spoke to Eames as the passed, but he answered them only in short phrases, his attention squarely on Arthur. At the door, he helped Arthur find his coat and then stood close to him, watching, as he buttoned it up.

"Be careful out there," Eames said. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

Eames was true to this word-he texted continually over the break. Arthur's family teased him mercilessly, but he didn't care. Every day, he and Eames learned more about each other, and seemed to have more to talk about. Eames clearly avoided his own family as much as possible, so he was available for texting or chatting or Skype sessions nearly whenever Arthur pinged him. By the time they returned to campus, they didn't need to make any decisions about a relationship-it was clear one had already been established.

As soon as he landed and shoved his bags into his room, Arthur headed to Eames' house. When Eames opened the door, Arthur didn't even speak to him first, just kissed him, hard, insistent, with weeks worth of desire. When he finally broke this kiss, Arthur spoke quickly. "I have not been drinking. I have slept, eaten, showered, shaved, and done fucking nothing but think about you for weeks. This is the most vigorous, active, enthusiastic consent you are ever likely to get. Let's go upstairs. Now."

Eames grinned. "Well said. Let's go."

Hours later, Arthur thanked Eames for his insistence on waiting. While he had no doubt they'd have had fun that night before the winter break, this had been something better. Unworried, unhurried, already comfortable with each other, and with the benefit of several weeks of consideration and anticipation, it felt nothing like a one-off encounter, no matter how hot. It felt like a beginning.


End file.
